


Where You're Going

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Critical Role: Wildemount Campaign (Web Series)
Genre: Episode 14: Fleeting Memories, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 01:19:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14391183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: “When we were having that whole thing with Molly,” Beau said, swirling her mug in a slow circle. The tavern light flickered over her stare. Beau had sharp eyes; Beau, and Molly, and Jester all three did. Nott kept a watch for sharp-eyed people in the same way she watched out for other goblins and snarling dogs. “The Lucien thing. It got me wondering... are there any surprises in your past that might, you know, catch us like that? Or stab us in the back?”





	Where You're Going

**Author's Note:**

> The most recent of [a number of Tumblr ficlets](http://souridealist.tumblr.com/tagged/ficlets) that I will be crossposting over the next few days (I hope.) Spoilers through episode 14; warnings for self-medication (because Nott) and implicit violence/disturbing content.

“So,” Beau said, leaning over the table. “Nott.”

Nott tensed, tightening her grip on her new flask. Beau said a lot of things in the tone of voice that she'd just used, and she said most of them to Molly; it could make a show that lasted all evening, and that was just fine for Molly, but Nott had no interest in being part of the performance.

“Beauregard,” she said, as amiably as she could. “Would you like a drink?”

“Sure,” Beau said. “What've you got?”

“Whatever you want, I think,” Nott said, swirling the flask nervously. She hadn't been drinking much tonight; no need, in the tavern's quiet almost-safety. She took a swig now. “This is whiskey, I think.”

“Whiskey sounds good,” Beau said, holding out her cup. Nott poured her a generous triple-shot over the dregs of her beer. “I've been meaning to ask you about something.”

“Oh?” Nott said, and took another sip. It didn't burn too much, but it tasted strong, which probably meant it was good stuff. She'd never much cared; it helped, or it would soon. She hoped.

“When we were having that whole thing with Molly,” Beau said, swirling her mug in a slow circle. The tavern light flickered over her stare. Beau had sharp eyes; Beau, and Molly, and Jester all three did. Nott kept a watch for sharp-eyed people in the same way she watched out for other goblins and snarling dogs. “The Lucien thing. It got me wondering... are there any surprises in your past that might, you know, catch us like that? Or stab us in the back?”

“Are you asking everyone this?” Nott asked, hunching her shoulders. Caleb was upstairs (safe, in easy earshot), calling Frumpkin back from another ugly death; Fjord was at the bar, caught up in some conversation with Jester. No rescue coming, and Molly and Yasha were outside doing something with the wagon, which ruled out any hope of distraction either. 

“Not yet,” Beau said. “I'll ask them if it comes up. And, look, I'm not asking you for all your secrets, or whatever. I just need to know what I should know.”

“That's a little circular, isn't it?”

“Ugh –” Beau rolled her eyes. “Look. Don't get me killed over your shit. If you've got shit that's gonna get me fucked, tell me enough that I know how to look for it. I don't wanna die over your enemies.”

“Well, I don't want to die over yours!” Nott said. “Do you have any enemies?”

“Let's say I don't have any I think are gonna try and stab my friends,” Beau said.

“Are we friends?” Nott asked. Beau twitched, the whiskey sloshing in her mug.

“I dunno,” she said. “Are we not?”

“You're threatening me!” Nott protested.

“I was _not!_ I was not threatening you, come on, I was _asking a question –_ ”

“It was very threatening,” Nott insisted, and took another drink. “Maybe it's like the compliments,” she offered, “and you were very threatening by accident.”

“Eh, maybe,” Beau said, exasperated. “I'll ask Fjord.”

“Good idea, do that,” Nott said, inching towards the end of the bench.

“You gotta give me an answer, though,” Beau said, leaning forward. Nott stopped. “You got anything going on that's going to fuck me if I don't know about it?”

“Not in the north,” Nott said. “Not anywhere we're going. If we get near anything... I'll let you know.”

“All right,” Beau said, sitting back. “You do that.”

 _Also, I'm a goblin, and most people are going to try and kill me on sight, but you already know that and don't seem to be worried about it – why? Because it's predictable? You don't mind; everyone minds, except Caleb, and he doesn't have anyone else; you could probably have someone else; why did you all let us stay –_ Nott swallowed another mouthful of whiskey and clipped the flask back onto her belt. “Why are you asking me?” she asked. “You said you weren't asking everybody. What about me made you think someone might be after me?” _Other than everything._

“You seemed really determined that Molly should know more about Lucien,” Beau said. “I was wondering if you were maybe... projecting a little.”

“You thought he should know more too!”

“No, I thought he wouldn't have to automatically start caring about his past if he learned about it,” Beau said. “That's different. You were the one telling him he _needed_ to know.”

“Well, I think he does!” Nott said. “Anyway, it doesn't matter. He's not ready, and he doesn't want my help, and that's fine. It's his business.” She huffed a little, folding her hands together

“So... is there stuff in your past _you_ don't want to forget?” Beau asked. “Stuff you think you need to know?”

“This is turning into an interrogation, suddenly,” Nott protested. “I thought you weren't asking me for all my secrets.”

“Wha – I'm just curious!” Beau protested. “I'm just trying to get to know you, you know, break down the barriers a little bit.”

“I didn't think I was your type,” Nott said. “I thought you went for... taller.”

“Agh!” Beau threw up her hands. “Listen, I just wanna know. I'm curious. So sue me. Whatever.”

Sometimes Nott had to wonder how old Beau really was. Five, six – maybe seven? Or whatever that would be, for humans. Seventeen? Eighteen? She wasn't sure of the math.

“I've... made some mistakes,” she said, instead of asking. “And there's some mistakes you only get to make once, and some I only... some I only _want_ to make once.” She closed her eyes, for an instant: blood on her fingers, bones in her teeth, meat sweet and soft and tender in her mouth, with the juices soaking into her tongue. Human sobbing in the distance, and the memory of clamping her mouth shut, because she had, she _had_ to keep down the first good food she'd gotten in months. The laughter of her clan around her.

“You have to know what you've done,” she said, “so you know what you're never going to do again. If you don't know you've been worse, then... you can't be better.” She met Beau's stare, folding her arms. “And that's all I'm going to say about it. Unless you want to start sharing.”

“I don't,” Beau said. “All right. Cool. Just... keep us updated. We don't want trouble.”

“No,” Nott said, standing. “I don't think we do.” She paused, then reached out and snagged Beau's mug.

“Hey!” Beau said. “You can just _have more_ , you've got that magic thing –” Nott ignored her, knocking the last dregs of whiskey down, and left.

 


End file.
